


drifting

by qanterqueen



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, im starting a game of how sad i can get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:51:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qanterqueen/pseuds/qanterqueen
Summary: Lup had noticed something was off with Kravitz. Everyone did.





	1. Chapter 1

Kravitz has an expiration date.

All souls do. All souls fade, or die, or waste away painfully. His is no different, it just… takes him longer. 

He takes _centuries_  to decompose, and the tie to the Raven Queen helps. She keeps him looking the same and feeling relatively the same for as long as she can-- that’s part of the deal, he’s pretty sure. There’s some specifics to it, but for as long as he works for her, she tries her best.

She’s also grown personally fond of him, which she’s told him before many times. Maybe that helps. Maybe she has loaned him more time that he deserves. 

It certainly _feels_  like it.

He feels like he’s living in a broken down body, moving slowly through time with a hard ache. He’s had to start sleeping and not because it feels nice, but because he _needs_  to. His soul aches and it _burns_ , and sleeping is just a temporary release from it if anything but it’s still _something_.

Fighting has become harder, too.

When his last target escaped and left him breathless, the Raven Queen had called him in.

_ ”I’m sure you know, but.. I’m very sorry, Kravitz. I really am.” _

She had explained to him what he already knew. She said she’d bring in new reapers-- she’d have Barry and Lup teach the newcomers. She said they’d all be okay. Order would continue after he goes.

He shouldn’t worry about that. 

And he shouldn’t worry about where his soul was going to go. It was going to wither away like dust in the wind, and… and that was going to be it.

He was not going to be locked in the stockade. He was not going to be _sorted_  anywhere. He was going to be free, and that was all.

Perhaps if she had told him this all years ago, he’d have gotten angry. Maybe he would have even cried, maybe he would have _rejected_  the concept, as if he had any choice in it. He would have fought for himself.

Now he nods. Lets her hand cradle his cheek and leave a warmth when he wakes in the mortal plane again.

He knows he’s going to die. He knows he’s going to fade.

Taako doesn’t.

He’s noticed some things. The way Kravitz comes home from work stumbling like a drunk man, his legs too weak to carry him after chasing souls for so long. The way his hands shake, sometimes, when he makes tea in the morning. The way he sleeps in longer, comes home earlier.

Kravitz has been trying to ignore it, trying to make the best of everything. The Queen has allowed him to loosen up on jobs. She’s giving him the time he wants-- the time to fall asleep in Taako’s arms, the time to watch him cook and sing to the radio one last time.

Most days they do the mundane. Kravitz lies on the couch and pretends to read and Taako curls into his side and dozes. The pressing urgency to do something _more_ \-- to make the most out of his dwindling time is always there. They should be out-- travelling, or experiencing _things_ , or indulging in extravagant luxuries.

But Kravitz is too tired to do such things. He’s realized that all he wants to do is _this_ , anyway.

Like this, he can ignore his pains and his fatigue.

He can ignore them for a long, long time.

A year and seven days after the Queen talks to him, he can no longer be so lucky.

There had been no plateau and downfall. There had been no rapid plummet. Just a slow, steady decline that had hit the bottom.

He wakes up in the morning and knows he’s not going to move from the bed.

Suddenly the time that he has spent with Taako doing _nothing_  seems wasted, but then again _anything_  in that time would have been not enough.

Taako’s awake and getting dressed-- something comfortable but still expensive enough to be _him_. He has a proposal to make today-- he needs funding for his college’s new program, and Angus is going with him. 

The sunlight is filtering through Taako’s hair and Kravitz thinks he can see his eyelashes from where he lies on the bed.

He wants to freeze the moment in time. He wants it to be the last thing he sees before he dies.

“Taako,” Kravitz whispers, and soft fingernails pull at his soul. It’s time, but she’s not going to rush him.

“Morning, sunshine.” Taako replies, distracted as he buttons up his shirt. Kravitz watches his fingers as they move like clockwork. He wonders when it was he last kissed those fingers.

“Taako… I have to say goodbye.”

His hands stop.

Kravitz has debated what to do for so many years. Is it better to fade out? Is it better to say goodbyes?

Taako isn’t good with goodbyes. He never has been. Even now-- Kravitz hasn’t said anything past _I have to say goodbye_  and Taako’s stopped in his tracks. It’s heartbreaking to see.

His vision is fading out anyway.

He closes his eyes. He can still see Taako, his back to him, his hair, the bedroom both of them have learned to call their own. He wants to keep it that way. He wants this to be it.

“Where you goin’, hunk?” Taako asks, his voice forcibly nonchalant. Kravitz imagines his fingers falling to his side, imagines him turning around.

“I… I have to go.” The words catch in his throat and his heart twists.

“Kravitz?”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re…” Taako says, instinctively, because _that’s how the joke goes_. “Al-already… dead.”

That’s their script. That’s what they say when Taako puts too much sugar in Kravitz’s coffee. That’s what they say when Kravitz accidentally catches his hip on the dining room table. That’s what they say when Taako’s being ridiculous.

“What are you talking about?”

Kravitz smiles and chews on his bottom lip. “My… my time’s up, Taako.”

He wants _so much more time_. Fifteen years was too little.

“You’re… you’re dying,” Taako whispers, and Kravitz hears his feet take stumbling steps towards the bed. “Wh-- Kravitz, what…”

“I’m sorry.” Kravitz says, “I should have told you.”

“B-But-- Krav--” Taako’s voice is shaking. 

“I wanted to think everything would be okay.”

He brings his wrist up to his eyes. They’re wet-- he’s crying. After centuries, Kravitz is crying.

“Kravitz, you can’t die. Literally.” Taako’s in denial. A light finger touches his wrist.

“Everything dies, Taako.” Kravitz whispers. Keeping his eyes closed lets the fatigue wash over him just that much easier, but he doesn’t want to see anything. If he hangs on, just for a little bit longer, he can see Taako’s shadow over the dresser.

“W-Well-- Well you’re just-- what’s _wrong_?”

A weight dips the mattress in front of him and a shaking hand is running through his hair. He wonders if he’ll remember any of this, wherever he’s going. He wonders if he’ll forget it all.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He breathes out, and the hand on his eyes moves to grasp at Taako’s arm. “I’m old, Taako. I’m so old.”

“N-No.” 

That’s when things set in.

“No, no, you’re-- you’re _immortal_.” Taako stutters. “You’re-- t-the Astral Plane, yeah?”

“No, Taako.” Kravitz smiles and tears well from his eyes. His soul is throbbing-- the hum of it is slowing and his words are growing lethargic. He’s running out of time so quickly. “Taako, I’m-- I’m just _going_.”

“ _Where?_ ”

“I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath, wondering if it’s the last one. “But… but I thought I should say goodbye.”

“ _F-Fuck you, Kravitz_.” Taako’s hand is on his face and he’s cold and shaking-- both of them are. “No, Kravitz-- y-you don’t-- you don’t get to--”

“I’m sorry, Taako. I really am.” 

_ “Shut up.” _

“Just please stay here.”

“Kravitz what-- what the _fuck_  do you want me to do?”

“Please stay.”

The weight in the mattress dips further and something slides against him, hands coming to cup his face. His old, weary heart sighs. It slows.

“Kravitz, you _can’t_  leave me.”

“I don’t want to.” He smiles again, this time genuine. “Taako, I love you so much. I always have.”

_ “Don’t." _

He opens his eyes one last time.

Taako’s eyes are red. His hair is messy. His face is flushed and stained with tears. His shirt is only barely on. His hands are shaking.

“You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Taako laughs out a sob. Kravitz has never wanted to see Taako like this. He should have kept his eyes closed. “Don’t say-- don’t _fucking say that_.”

“It’s true.” Kravitz leans in and, for the last time, kisses Taako.

He doesn’t have the energy for much else.

Taako keeps their foreheads pressed together when they break apart and his eyes are frantic as he looks at Kravitz. “P-please-- please stay--”

Kravitz takes one last look at Taako and wonders how he ever became so lucky before he closes his eyes.

Taako starts shaking him immediately, gently and without force. “No-- no, no, Kravitz, _wake up_ \--”

“I’m here, Taako.” Slowly, slowly as his heart fades. “I love you so much.”

_ “Don’t say that." _

For one last time, Kravitz falls asleep with Taako by his side.


	2. Lup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lup had noticed something was off with Kravitz. Everyone did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO i know I said I wasn't going to continue this, but here we are! notcrindy (on tumblr & ao3) ended up writing this amazingly beautiful multichapter fic called Inland Ocean as a follow up to chapter 1 of drifting, which you can find here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13287999/chapters/30407892  
> ... which in turn inspired me to keep this going! I won't be uploading regularly or following any sort of time line-- mostly just playing off of anything that inspires me from notcrindy's fic or any thoughts I want to explore a bit more. because of this i'm gonna go out on a limb and say that you can _probably_ understand these one-offs and one-shots if you don't read Inland Ocean, but i'd still recommend reading it!  
>  So, anyway, thank you guys for reading! <3

Lup had noticed something was off with Kravitz. Everyone did.

The change was gradual and she didn’t question it at fist. There was no specific thought that entered her mind from any specific event-- there was only a train of thought that she ran with that would alter slightly more and more every day.

She loved Kravitz like a brother. Maybe that explains the guilt she feels about the passiveness of her actions.

Every day his scythe would appear heavier in his hand. Every day her and Barry would run farther and faster than him, and it was never noticeable until they would have to _stop_  and wait for him. Every day he’d show up to work just a bit later,  just a bit more tired. Every day he’d take off earlier and earlier, or take longer breaks.

Every day he’d come in just a bit more haggard than the last.

But he never said anything. He never asked for her help. He never asked for her and Barry to slow down, or to wait for him, or to _help_  him. So she continued with her assurance in him. It was stupid of her to do so in retrospect, and she wonders if she’ll ever truly forgive herself for it.

Because no matter what the Queen told her, no matter what she _knew_ , Lup was so damn sure Kravitz just couldn’t… couldn’t _die_  like that.

She hadn’t thought about him dying-- who would?-- but perhaps if she had, she would have come to a much different ending for him. He would die protecting Taako-- he would die _valiantly_ , with his scythe held high in his hand as seven-- no, _eight_  litches surrounded him and gave it all they had. He’d fight tooth and nail and he’d take a good few of them down, but in the end he would be bested and… and then leave behind some trap for the litches, something to get them all wiped out when he was gone. 

Because _that’s_  what could take Kravitz down. His own self-sacrificial bullshit and the indescribable strength of opponents he’d be too prideful to back down from. And that’s what he deserved-- he deserved the impossible, _good_  ending. 

Not… not this. Not _age_.

Kravitz wouldn’t leave Taako like that, Lup knew. He wouldn’t just _go_. No will, no indication of where he was going-- that wasn’t like Kravitz to just leave Taako in the dark. He knew-- he was so painfully aware-- of what Taako had to go through. He was so sensitive to it-- so accepting, so loving, and he’d always try to adjust himself to Taako’s needs. He wouldn’t just _leave_.

But that’s what happened.

And it’s through those thoughts that most of the guilt Lup feels stems from. Because later-- just about a week before he died-- she was told what was going to happen. She was told that Kravitz was going to die. And she told no one.

The Raven Queen did not tell her. Barry did not tell her. No one tapped her on the shoulder and let her know, no one _sat her down_  and told her that he was going to peacefully pass away. The information, instead, came from a file on her desk, four deep from the top.

In her pile of bounties, this was her _fourth_. It almost seemed like a cruel joke to place him that low on any type of standings, but that’s what the paperwork seemed to want. After all, the file said, there needed to be no effort in this collection. The soul known as Kravitz would be taken by the Queen herself-- Lup just needed to sort out the work.

It was early that she had gotten to his file-- purely on accident, purely because it was slow work that day, purely because _Kravitz_  had the other three bounties on top of his own handled.

She picked up the file and was sure it was a mistake. _Kravitz_? Why was his name on the paper? He didn’t _get_  a file. He-- he’s not _dying_  or anything, what does this mean?

When Lup started skimming through the papers inside, a seed settled in her heart. It grew and expanded with dread and anguish. 

_ Kravitz. _

_ 14.000 years. _

_ Evasion. _

_ Sentenced: dispersion; exempt. _

_ To pass by Raven Queen. No involvement. _

_ No known will. No known next of kin.  _

She looked up and pressed a hand to her mouth. 

Looking at his desk, slightly dusty and not a single thing out of place, things had finally made sense.

It was cruel to her to have Kravitz put on the bounty, but it was also completely _right_. She valued him so highly-- not only as Kravitz, the person, but as _Death_. Kravitz was old, older than any of them, and he knew _so much_. He’d collected the souls of Kings and Queens and traitors and people in history that she’d only learned about in her IPRE days. Sometimes she’d sit and listen to him for hours, telling stories as he absently filed papers about how he’d changed courses of _entire wars_  because he had collected the soul of someone important.

The funny thing was, _that_  was what she had considered cruel for so long. Hearing his stories and then seeing him at some desk job. 

It was a horrible reminder to her-- seeing his file haphazardly put into a pile. Kravitz, for how much of an amazing man he was, was still just another soul. Death was as unbiased towards itself as anyone else.

That night she stopped by Taako’s house for dinner. Kravitz hadn’t come in to work at all that day.

When she saw him, her heart broke-- it simply shattered, melting any smile that had been on her face from her brother. 

Kravitz had smiled at her, and he had greeted her with a hug (he was _never_  one for hugs. That was her first indicator). If he had seen his own death sentence he did not tell her. 

Lup couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. He was so quiet about things-- but she knew, from the first second that she saw him, that he knew and was fully aware about the fact that he was dying.

The shine in his eyes was dwindling. He leaned against counters, against the wall, against the table. He moved slowly, as if anything quick would shatter his bones. He looked _tired_. His unshakable, handsome, consistently _bright_  face was exhausted. 

Towards the end of the night Lup watched him stifle a yawn behind Taako’s back.

She didn’t tell Barry. She didn’t tell Taako. 

When she hugged Kravitz goodbye that night, she lingered. She decided, in that moment, that it was the worst feeling in the world to hug a dead man.

The Grim Reaper was fading before her eyes. He was dying, without a doubt, and he _shouldn’t have been_ , not in Lup’s eyes. But that was the natural order of life, and it always had been. 

Lup went home that night and cried to herself for hours and nothing changed.


	3. Angus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack!

Angus was a smart boy and an even smarter man.

When he was younger he would factor in the emotions of the people involved in these mysteries as data and motivators, nothing more. Now he factors the emotions in as something important, something altogether different.

He supposed that made him smarter.

Emotions were odd to him when he was young. He never quite understood them, and he never really embraced or encouraged them, but they just  _happened_.

Magnus became his friend. So did Merle, though it took much longer. Hurley and Sloane, Carey and Killian, Lucretia-- they all became close to him, and he never understood the science of how or why.

But Taako and Kravitz? He understood.

Taako was his mentor. He taught him magic and, later, cooking. He snapped his fingers at him in the hallway-- back when Angus was smaller than him. He bought him Candlenights gifts that, while not expensive, meant the world to Angus.

Slowly he became closer to Taako. Angus would seek Taako out while he didn't want a lesson, just to be with him, and that became okay. Slowly Taako would smile at him. Slowly Taako’s teasing became less and less something that had true bite. Slowly he was genuine.

Kravitz was another case.

Angus could remember meeting him for the first time at a family dinner-- all sharp angles and dark shadows and looming stances. Angus knew who he was and what he did immediately, and he was _afraid_ \-- even if Kravitz awkwardly smiled at him and shook his hand, Angus was afraid. Of course he was-- Angus was barely twelve.

But that same night, Kravitz had accidentally spilled an entire glass of wine on himself and got Magnus’s dog drunk. Later, when _he_  was drunk (though everyone save for Angus was at least a little tipsy), he spent thirty minutes talking to said dog, making sure it knew it was “the only motherfucker in this city” that understood him. 

The next day he apologized to Taako for an hour, though Taako didn't take offense at all and was laughing about it for the next few months.

Angus decided that night that he liked Kravitz.

Kravitz was, at first, awkward. It was hard to have a conversation with him,  even if Angus insisted he could take to him like an adult. Maybe it was something about how old he was, and that he no longer had the context to measure a human’s life or intelligence. 

Whatever it was, luckily it didn't last.

It started with small things. For a while Angus lived with him and Taako, and Kravitz would make him tea in the morning (Angus drank coffee, but Kravitz insisted it was bad for growing humans to drink coffee. He said this while chugging his own extremely strong and extremely black coffee). Then he would share stories with Angus-- if Angus asked, he'd tell about the seven kings he collected, the kingdoms he'd torn apart and the lives he'd saved out of pure sympathy. Then it was the encouragement when Angus came home with a case. Then it was forming a “Make Taako Bankrupt” team while playing Monopoly. Then it was painting his bedroom with him, windows open and grabbing the breeze from the hot summer day.

But it was the night that Angus walked into the living room to see Kravitz reading a Caleb Cleveland novel, his brow drawn in complete confusion, that Angus decided he really, really liked Kravitz.

The day Angus grew up and moved out, Kravitz didn't cry (Taako did). Angus had never seen Kravitz cry-- he wasn't sure he was capable. But Kravitz did hug him. He did say that he was proud of Angus, that he knew he'd be okay. That he'd miss him. 

Angus cried.

It was lonely without him. Of course Angus liked the new freedom and independence, but he stopped drinking tea in the morning. Kravitz wasn't there to make it for him. 

He lived a city over, thirty minutes of walking. It felt like there was thousands of miles between him and the people he grew to see as parents.

Because that's what Kravitz was. He was, in the simplest term, his guardian.

He patched up scraped knees. He read stories before bed. He cooked a mediocre breakfast. He made tea in the morning.

But the one thing that he never did-- never was _supposed_  to do, was die.

Not of age. Not when Angus had just cancelled that month's family game night due to work. Not when Angus hadn't seen him for a month.

But Lup called him one morning. Sunday, when he didn't have work.

She was crying within a minute.

_ He's… Kravitz is dead. I'm sorry, Angus. _

There was no spell to bring him back, Lup explained. The Queen knew. His soul was not in the Stockade-- he was just gone. Dissolved. Done.

Angus cried when Lup hung up. 

He'd heard a particular saying once-- “Parents should never outlive their kids”.

He didn't think it applied to immortal parents.

Lup told him Taako wasn't handling things well. She said Angus should talk to him. She didn't say why, but Angus knew. So he agreed.

But… how could he?

He couldn't say Kravitz lived some long, fulfilling life full of treasures and love. He couldn't say Kravitz was done with his time here.

Because… because he _wasn't_. Angus wasn't _done_  with him.

Kravitz was supposed to take Angus to bars and celebrate his birthday next month. Kravitz was supposed to buy him an old, ancient text to translate when he went to collect a soul in a foreign land. When Angus got married, Kravitz was supposed to be at the wedding. He was supposed to conjure another chair during family game night. When Angus would learn his wife was pregnant, _Kravitz_  was supposed to be one of the first people he'd tell. _Kravitz_  was supposed to, for the first time, cry. When the child was born, _Kravitz_  was going to be it's Godfather alongside Taako. Kravitz was supposed to watch his first child grow up. 

Kravitz was supposed to make Angus tea. 

Angus called off work for the week, that was the first thing he did. Called his client, said he'd be longer than expected.

Sorry for the inconvenience, he said.

And then he sat on his couch and felt his heart crumble.

Hanging on the back of one of his sitting chairs, straight across from him, was a cloak, laden with inky black feathers. 

Kravitz left it at his house a month ago, at the last family game night. Over the stone of farspeech he said he'd get it sometime later, when he remembered. Angus didn't understand why he didn't just appear and take it back that way.

Looking at it, Angus wonders if Kravitz wanted him to have it. Maybe he wanted to leave it for some sort of momento.

Maybe he just forgot.

Agnus sniffs and wipes at his eyes and lets out a muffled cry. He supposes that's a symptom, isn't it?

When people get older, they forget things.


	4. The Raven Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying out something a little different with this one, but i think it works.

In her hands, something so frail beats weakly.  
She turns it over and it’s  
Weak in this liminal space.  
Weak in her being,  
Like a plant she’s neglected to water  
That wilts with every day.  
Slowly, so she may observe  
The process and wonder   
What can be done,  
If anything can be done.  
Even as she smoothes it over  
With her thumb  
A bit of dust flies off the surface,  
Floating detached around her,  
And somewhere a man feels his heart sigh.  
She lifts this wilted thing to her lips  
And kisses it, a cold being against her,  
Because everything must die,  
And everything can mourn.  
With her fingers she stretches this  
Like clay, soft and delicate;  
Like pulling away cotton,  
Like brushing a man’s hair,  
So delicately cared for--  
He feels it, laying on that bed.  
She takes her time and she’s delicate  
For this thing must perish  
But she will give it the ending it deserves.  
Full of love, full of gentle touches--  
A slow unravel that he does not feel  
But he is grateful for.  
She tugs at this soul and the dust billows around her  
And settles on her face, cards through her hair  
Like golden glitter from a party  
Thrown by a man who  
Lived in a farmhouse   
But loved the city.  
In this void space  
Where there exists her   
And this project, this unraveling thread,  
No one is there to see her pause  
And lift a hand to her lips.  
The thing before her,  
So old, so frail, so quiet,  
Nearly reduced to dust--  
She’ll miss it.  
She already does.  
She’ll miss the man who loved;  
The man who became more than she   
Bargained for, more than she asked for.  
For the first time,  
She thinks   
As she unravels.  
She thinks  
She’ll miss this soul.


	5. Lucretia

It’s her own undeniable truth that she cannot be forgiven.

She _should_ _not_ be forgiven.

She  _ deserves _ to not be forgiven.

She… she doesn’t deserve much these days.

People tell her that she’s forgiven-- justified, even. They say she’s made herself out to be worse than she is-- they say they love her, that she’s beating herself up, that she  _ doesn’t need to do this _ .

She doesn’t trust them these days. 

Once upon a time she  _ did _ . She could sneak into their bedrooms before the sun awakened and she could whisper her anxieties, she could hear their own secrets, and she could have some bit of confidence. What she told Barry he would tell  _ no one else. _ What was written to Magnus was going to see only his eyes. What complaints she had never made it past Lup’s door.

And when Barry had his own insecurities he shared, she dared not tell anyone. When Magnus wrote her letters of words he couldn’t say, things too buried to ever reach his surface, she would crumble up the letters and toss them in the fire so the words only burned in her memory. When Lup felt alone sleeping in Taako’s bed, Lucretia was there to fill whatever space in her heart she needed filled.

Her own self hatred and her own guilt fueled her to be quiet after everything was settled.

For the times that Davenport politely rejected her invitation to dinner did not come close to rivaling the breakdowns he had every morning for weeks when he woke and his head was empty and slow with sleep. When she thought about the weight on her heart, the stress and guilt that made her physically ill, she knew that it did not compare with the utter regret that Barry carried that whispered to him, every day, that he should have gone with Lup.

She was crumbling under the weight of what she had done. She felt herself tearing in two with how awful of a person she had become. Every day there was something to be done, some impulsive luxury she could buy or place she could wander to, alone, to try to escape from who she was. Every night she would come home and feel her head pulse and her throat tighten with  _ guilt. _

Hours of lethargy and exhaust and  _ hatred _ turned to  _ weeks. _

And she could not forgive herself.

Knowing Kravitz was her guilty pleasure.

He knew all of what she had done. He knew the full story, the unbiased telling by Fisher, and he reserved judgement. He  _ saw _ what she did to Taako. He saw the days that Taako could not eat, he was  _ there _ for the hospitalizations, for the therapy sessions, for the nights spent awake and shaking. 

He was woken up early in the morning when Lup called, breathless and quiet because it was dark and Barry was out for work. He was the one that left his job, his  _ incredibly _ important job, in the middle of the day to come became Taako called.

He saw Taako cry when no one else did.

And he did not blame Lucretia.

It was in his nature, she thought, that he did not judge. Death did not discriminate-- that was the rule of life. He did not choose to carry away souls of the young or innocent. He did not purposefully pick up those who lead fulfilling lives, those that made an impact or a difference or a change for the better. Kravitz did as he was told-- no more and no less.

He did not blame Lucretia.

The first time he told her this, she laughed. She didn’t trust him. 

But, he said, the fact was that she was human. That was the nature of humans-- they are  _ just _ creatures. Whether it’s a step or a leap, they  _ try _ to do what’s right, at least in their own eyes. 

She followed what she thought was true, he said. And that, to him, was admirable. And things got messy along the way, and people were seriously hurt. She may have been the instigator but she was  _ not _ the string of hurt that happened due to her choice.  _ None _ of that was her.

If she had the chance to act all of these things out, to write the story so completely detailed, she would not have chosen to hurt her family. He knew this to be a fact.

Lucretia cried that day. It was stupid of her-- Kravitz wrapped his arms around her and she cried, even though it had been the first time they had properly gotten together without anybody else. It was the first time she ever really had a singular conversation with him. And she cried into his arms and shook and-- and she didn’t  _ believe _ him, that was the catch.

She didn’t believe him, and she didn’t feel like she deserved to have  _ anyone _ in her life say that. 

But it was nice to hear.

It wasn’t strictly why he became her friend. They had so much in common-- they were both quiet introverts, always ready to take a walk to explore corners of the town. They had an interest in the stars-- Lucretia more of what specifically  _ made _ stars and Kravitz more of what stars  _ were _ (for there was a difference)-- and they both wondered what life could have offered them if things were just a bit askew. They talked about words they had seen and people they had met and stories they had learned.

He took her for coffee about once a week. She sent him cards on holidays.

Over time she grew to believe him-- but not what his words  _ meant _ . She would never erase that guilt and that hatred, and to her that was a good thing. It was good to remember.

But Lucretia believed that Kravitz didn’t blame her.

It was stupid of him but… but how was she to argue with him? It wasn’t only the knowledge that he was part of a Goddess, or that he was so  _ old _ and wise and full of knowledge. It was partly because Kravitz was  _ Kravitz. _ Just the kind of person he was made it hard to dispute him.

When Lucretia was with Kravitz, there was a break in the world.

He was the only person in her life that didn’t bring up what had happened. It wasn’t avoidance, not at all-- but it was the fact that he wasn’t getting together with her out of obligation or worry. He was her friend because he  _ wanted _ to be. Lucretia had him in her life not because she felt too terrible to ever say no to him-- it was because she didn’t  _ want _ to say no.

So, once every week, she would put things on hold and so would he.

Kravitz skipped two weeks and that’s when he passed away.

She hadn’t noticed a thing. She did only see him for an hour or two, but he was always the same. He was constant-- he was  _ safe _ to her. A friend that she could always lean on-- some sort of semblance from the life she had lived so long ago, sneaking on the wooden deck of a spaceship from someone’s bedroom to her own. 

Perhaps it was her own carelessness. Her own foolishness for not noticing, for looking this gift horse in the mouth and, for  _ once, _ not worrying what could go wrong.

(The last words he said to her were “Same time next week”.)

It was only a week after he died that someone had told her.

And it was Barry. Offhandedly.

He mentioned--

It was over a call, because she wanted to know if he was coming to dinner--

And--

And he mentioned he had to politely take a rain check, because-- because of what was happening with work--

And  _ she _ had to ask what was wrong.

Lucretia kept her composure until she hung up and  _ that’s  _ when she cried.

No one called her. No one asked her to show up to the funeral. 

She wasn’t supposed to have friends like him in her life, anyway. She wasn’t supposed to feel happy, she wasn’t supposed to have that support, she wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to mourn.

She was Lucretia, and she was supposed to be alone.

Strong, silent,  _ alone _ \-- carrying the guilt of what she had done quietly and with grace. She did not deserve to cry, or feel upset, or ask for help or tell anyone what she felt.

Kravitz died and Lucretia carried on.


End file.
